


Ink

by bendy_quill



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/F, Female Character of Color, Implied Sexual Content, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 16:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11165613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendy_quill/pseuds/bendy_quill
Summary: Isabela studies some of Hawke's tattoos early in the morning.





	Ink

Morning seeps through the lightly parted curtains of Hawke’s bedroom with small patches of sunshine spreading up the walls and across the floor. It’s rare for Isabela to stay in bed before the sun comes up, but there are days when she doesn’t mind basking in the warmth just a little bit longer.

Hawke leisurely stretches on her bed, velvet sheets haphazardly kicked to the side and nude body soaking in the bit of sun that touches her skin. In an hour or two, Bodahn will come knocking on the door to let her know who needs her influence for the day, but Isabela can’t blame her for taking the time to relish in whatever peace she can find. She yawns, scratches her head through the large silk bonnet still protecting her hair, and rolls over onto her stomach.

Tattoos span the length of her body in a collection of patterns and images that paint a story about the woman she cares deeply for, but whose past is still a little mysterious.

Isabela traces her finger along the raised skin bearing thick black ink and passes over the brighter, but gradually faded colors also imprinted upon Hawke’s back. These tattoos are feathers that cover the entirety of her upper back and stretch down her arms—hawk wings that beat and flap every time goes around swinging that staff and wielding magic the way she always does. Further down her body, right above her hip, is a delicate pattern of lines that sweep into elegant swirls. She follows every groove, laughs when Hawke wriggles her hips, and smooths her hand up the expanse of her back again.

“You said you did mercenary work before you came to Kirkwall, right?” she asks. “Is that where all these came from?”

Hawke hums and folds her arms underneath her chin. “Most of them. Made it a lot easier to fit in with Meeran’s people since most of them have stories.”

Her eyes catch the hint of neat script tucked between Hawke’s thighs. She commits the words to memory, but never asks about their meaning. It’s easy to get lost in sensation when the moment arises—such as when her lips glide over slightly raised words etched into warm brown flesh the further she ventures up her lover’s thighs.

Isabela slides her hands down Hawke’s back again, this time trailing her fingers along the words. She glances up at Hawke and watches her roll her shoulders before parting her legs.

“What’s the story behind these?” she asks, gently tracing the words.

“Some bullshit that doesn’t make sense.” Hawke cranes her neck to look back at Isabela and sheepishly smiles. Fingers dance upon the words, the prospect of Hawke’s soft and warm skin beneath the elegant script stirring a little playful fire within her, and Isabela finds herself smiling back. “I was pretty shitfaced when I got those but people don’t see them, so no one asks that often. I couldn’t tell you what it means even if I tried.”

Isabela snorts. “I’ve got a few of those myself. Not as bad as some of the ones I’ve seen, but still regrettable in the long run.”

Hawke tilts her head back and openly laughs something warm that has Isabela’s heart pounding a little harder in her chest. She rolls over and Isabela whistles appreciatively. Heavy breasts slide into view, accompanied by the intricate outline of the unfinished dragon imprinted on her chest and lightly wrapping around her throat. Another delicate pattern rests on her stomach just beneath her breasts, matching the ones on her ankles, and she finds herself wanting to kiss the pattern very slowly.

She jolts when Hawke runs her fingers down her back, face suddenly close and body pressing up against her. Her fingers ripple over the patterns that tell a story about herself she still hasn’t quite unveiled the full story of just yet.

“Yours look nicer than mine,” Hawke says.

Her eyes take in every inch of Hawke sitting gloriously naked before her wearing only her bedsheets and tattoos in the open. How many times is she going to sit here thinking about the carefree attitude that defines her lover? How many times is she going to fight with herself and these feelings welling up in the pit of her stomach?

She tries to ignore the slight way her hands tremble when she reaches out to cup Hawke’s face. Their bodies meld so perfectly as their lips touch and their bodies tumble back into the sheets, little caresses at first until they open up and consume each other fully. Her fingers interlink with Hawke’s and she raises their hands above their heads. They pause briefly when she pulls back and laughs.

“What’s so funny?” Hawke asks.

On Hawke’s knuckles are familiar words that her enemies know all too well—“these hands”—and she feels the groove of the letters right there with her fingertips. Isabela is in stitches the first time she sees them.

“Just—” Isabela starts, gently squeezing Hawke’s hands. She pauses for a moment to collect her thoughts and shakes her head. “Just. You. I can’t explain it. It’s just a feeling, I guess.”

Hawke smirks. “Rare is the day where I render you speechless, Bela.”

Oh, there’s Hawke. Always playful and always a joy to be around. She kisses her again, hot and full of desire, thigh sliding between her lover’s and pressing into the heat of her body. Her hand slips beneath Hawke’s body to stroke along her lower back and tracing over the tattoo there.

“I’ll show you speechless,” she promises, pressing one kiss upon Hawke’s neck, another on the outline of the dragon, and another between her breasts.


End file.
